


Dream

by Pandanonymous



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Deep Stone Crypt, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandanonymous/pseuds/Pandanonymous
Summary: Some exos dream of a peaceful walk through a field of golden millet. Others dream about killing an army of people that they know. Saint-14 is no stranger to violent dreams. He's killed strangers and loved ones alike in them. Only one person had ever escaped death, but Saint is not sure how long that will last if his dream self is as determined as he would be in waking world.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written after reading about Saint's new idle line but didn't read the legacy's oath mark until much later. 
> 
> A million thanks to Fleep for beta reading and proofreading for me!

Saint-14 was no stranger to nightmares. As all exos do, he dreamed of the tower that stood on a black plain. 

There were heart wrenching pleas and ear deafening screams from the Lightless that he could not save. There were memories of Guardians whose broken bodies laid strewn across the battlefield. In his dreams though, they were not killed by the Fallen or even the Vex or the Hive. Instead, he was the monster who tore them apart, who devoured the children, and had wrenched any spark of hope from their eyes.

Even in the light of day, he could still recall the wails for mercy coming from their lips even as his own cries were trapped within the confines of his mind. His body became a cage slick with blood. The sticky red fluid dripped down his fingers as he went from breaking to stabbing to smashing the bodies of everyone he had ever known. Until all that was left between him and the tower were the ones he loved most. 

Selfishly, Saint has always believed that this was the worst. He told himself that it should be the cries of the helpless civilians that destroyed him, or the vacant eyes of the Guardians that looked to him for leadership.

No, what crushed him was Saladin whose axe laid in shards around him. 

It was Shaxx whose helmet remained in place even as his head laid separate from his body.

It was Ikora whose gasp still echoed in his ears as a violet shield crashed into her chest, crushing her ribs.

It was the Speaker. His Father. The one who found him and took him in. Saint shattered his mask and had torn him apart with his bare hands.

Sweet Gepetto and Sagira laid as crumpled shrapnel beneath his feet.

And Osiris.

Osiris. 

Somehow, Osiris had always managed to escape a bloody fate. The man would always appear in these dreams in a flash of golden fire. Unlike his counterpart in the waking world, this dream apparition never attempted to clash with him no matter what advances Saint had made. 

The warlock did not attempt to charge at him like Shaxx. He did not attempt to block him or deflect his blows like Ikora. He did not attempt to plead with him like the Speaker.

Instead, Osiris lept away. Fiery wings bloomed and kept him aloft. He would dash away and Saint, in his dreams and in reality alike, would give chase. It was one chase that Saint hoped would never end, but every dream since he had met the man, Saint seemed to get closer to the elusive bird. 

Most nights this would be how the dream ended: Saint reaching out and just barely grazing his fingers against the tail end of robes or Solar warmed air that the warlock left behind just a split second before. 

But Saint knew that nothing could ever last. All good things must come to an end. Osiris will be caught. 

He braced himself the night he was certain he would catch Osiris. He had tried to avoid sleep, but even exos tired eventually.

The chase was an old familiar dance by then. Osiris would float, Saint would charge. Osiris would slip away and Saint gave chase. Solar, Void, and Arc sparked around them as Saint tried to trap, to kill, even as he fought to gain control of his dream-body.

If Saint had a human body, his heart would be in his throat, his head would be pounding. As it was, his processors worked overtime to provide him with one terrible image after the next. Osiris with his body laying broken in unnatural angles. Osiris impaled with a spear that he had somehow managed to find in the empty plain. Osiris decapitated. Osiris with his heart ripped out by Saint’s own hands. 

Saint wished he could vomit. 

Instead, nausea built within him as he got ever closer to his goal. The distance between him and his bird closed, until, finally Osiris made a mistake. He darted one way instead of another and crashed into Saint, toppling them both onto the hard ground. 

They grappled for the upper hand. They traded blows even as Osiris pushed to get away and Saint pulled him closer. Neither of them willing to allow the other enough distance to throw a proper punch. 

Saint despaired. He knew that Osiris would die. It was the fate of everyone who appeared in these dreams. The only question was how. Which one of those horrible predictions would come true?

A miracle happened instead. Stars exploded behind his eyes as Osiris’s fist successfully connected with his temple. In a snap, Osiris took advantage of his disorientation. He straddled the exo and pinned him to the ground. Hands gripped Saint’s forearms tightly on either side of his head. 

Saint waited for his body to start fighting back. He expected his body to headbutt the warlock, to dislodge him, and to tear him apart in retribution.

Nothing happened.

Instead, as he laid there, he felt warmth sink down into his iron bones from where Osiris touched him. He had never realized how cold he felt in these dreams. 

“Saint,” Osiris spoke. His gaze was intense as if Saint was a piece of Vex tech that he intended to take apart or a new study on the Light he planned to devour. It should be uncomfortable, that analytical stare, but Saint felt seen. Understood. Saint would not break away from that gaze even if he could.

“Saint,” Osiris repeated. He lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against Saint’s. “Rest now.”

Saint closed his eyes, and obeyed.

In the early morning, when Saint woke, he found his fiery bird sprawled on top of him. His body heavy and warm on top of his own. A comfortable weight. Grounding.

Since then, Saint-14 dreamt of golden fields instead.


End file.
